


Devil In The Pale Moonlight

by define_serenity



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Halloween costumes Blaine ordered with Kurt arrive, but he doesn't want to go to the party alone because they broke up. Can Sebastian convince him otherwise, even when he's still haunted by his memories?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil In The Pale Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [THIS ART](http://zephyrianboom.tumblr.com/post/30472518199/have-you-ever-danced-with-the-devil-in-the-pale) by **zephyrianboom**. Some of the dialogue is taking from _Batman_ (1989) and _The Dark Knight_. Be warned that Blaine is still very much dealing with his break-up with Kurt.

The phone call comes two weeks after the break up.

The costumes he and Kurt had ordered for Halloween months ago, ready-made at the store, custom-tailored with a few personal touches here and there.

Kurt’s had sequins added to his mask and his tail, and his, naturally, had a bowtie added to its design. He’s unaware he’s running his thumb over it until the store owner asks him “Cash or credit,” and he’s handing over his credit card without thinking.

He kept the tickets because they’d been paid for already, and throwing them away had seemed like a waste. But who’s he really kidding—this was his and Kurt’s thing, he doesn’t want to ask anyone else and going by himself, well, that just seemed pathetic at this point. There’s a reason he and Kurt coordinated their outfits.

It still hurts, Kurt’s absence somehow manages to keep this dull ache in his chest alive, a voice at the back of his head going _Kurt would really_ — and _you should text Kurt_ — or _what about Kurt_ — until it’s only this seeming dependency left behind. He’s told it’s normal, that it’ll take time for the wounds to heal, for the marks to disappear and so he accepts it.

But he doesn’t need reminders such as these to show him exactly where the scars are located.

So he’s not sure how he finds himself at the Lima Bean, which he avoids as much as possible, because there was the table where they shared their first _I love you’s_ (so the little voice reminds him), the spot in front of the counter where Kurt semi-confessed his feelings for him, even if he hadn’t recognized it yet, the _other_ table where he decided to transfer to McKinley. Kurt _this_ , Kurt _that_ , Kurt _everywhere_ , _can’t you see_ , Blaine? It’s a cruel taunt, a joke really, but it’s normal, so that’s okay.

He thinks he’s there for another table though, one first and foremost detached from Kurt, with someone who has no problem to pretend there’s no such person named Kurt in their lives.

“Hey, killer,” a voice sounds behind him.

The smile that creeps to the corner of his mouth hushes something inside him, pours balm over the wounds instead of salt. (The little voice inside chokes out treason.)

Sebastian comes into view and sits down at the table. “Haven’t seen you around.”

“I’ve been busy,” he says, not a lie—he’s found distraction in a handful of clubs at school, co-captaining the New Directions, running for Class President and even helping Artie direct the new school musical. All in the name of finding some normalcy again—that, and it won’t look bad on his school transcripts.

“So your Facebook has informed me,” Sebastian says matter-of-factly, but his mouth pulls at the corner and Blaine knows what else Facebook has told him. _Blaine Anderson is no longer in a relationship_ was the update that had sparked the other ones—he’d held it off for three days before changing the status and was assaulted by sympathy and _I’m sorry’s_ and virtual hugs. But none of them, not even the _good riddance’s_ or _you’re better off’s_ came from Sebastian.

“I also noticed you’re going to the Halloween party at the Rhythm & Blues,” Sebastian says, leans back in his chair, exposes himself.

“I was.”

“Come on, Blaine, live a little,” Sebastian urges, leaves the initial question— _because of Kurt?_ —unsaid.

“By going to a party by myself?” he asks, shakes his head. There was a point to all this once, making plans for the future, buying tickets, ordering costumes—this year it’s just him, with tickets to a _very_ exclusive event, but not one any of his other friends is interested in. “And dance with strangers?”

“People have done crazier things.” Sebastian smiles. “You pick out an outfit?”

“I’m—” He chuckles, and the plain dead normal feel of nerves almost makes him giddy. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

“Don’t be shy, killer.”

He looks up at Sebastian, all ears as if he’s spinning the most fascinating story, and he remembers that Sebastian’s never really been any other way around him.

“I was dressing up as Robin.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow, and he knows the words “And Kurt would’ve been—?” are out before even Sebastian can remind himself who they weren’t talking about.

_Yes, Blaine, you remember Kurt, don’t you?_ the voice rattles, and he hates how dependent he’s become on it, that even when he manages to silence it for a few vulnerable moments it comes back in full force to remind him what he’s forgetting, what he’s forgiving.

The ache dulls a little with each passing day, but it’s taking its sweet time.

One day. One day he’ll be whole again.

Sebastian shrugs. “You never know who you might meet,” he says, Kurt vanishing from between them again ( _traitor!_ ). “Life’s full of opportunity, Blaine. Don’t be afraid to seize it.”

It’s hard to hear from someone else, have Sebastian of all people point out this fear snowballing inside him. He’s afraid that someone new will make Kurt inconsequential, will turn his past ( _present!_ ) feelings into something less and weak and _you settled_. But Kurt was his first love, still is, and he realizes all too well that he’s the only one that can rate Kurt in relation to future boyfriends.

In the end it’s that fear that gets him to go, not just the outrageous price tag on the tickets, but a vice-like grip on his dignity and pride to let him know that normal includes more than just school and extra-curriculars.

He wants to meet new people too.

He’s not out of place in his Robin suit but he feels exposed all alone. It doesn’t help that somewhere in his panic he’d grabbed the cat ears from Kurt’s costume and tried them on, and his reflection in the mirror had somehow convinced him it was a good idea.

He’s never been felt more self-conscious in his entire life.

“Trick or treat,” someone’s breath is hot against his ear and he reels around, a more sensible part of him that needs to identify the voice rather than bask in its mystery. Because Sebastian was right—there’s opportunity everywhere and he’d be a fool to hang his entire future on the off chance that he and Kurt could start over if he ever makes it to New York himself.

He turns and stares up into two bright green eyes and a smile he’d recognize anywhere. “Sebastian?” Blaine asks, blinks, and he notices ever so slowly how Sebastian’s hair is the same shade of green as his eyes, his face dyed paler than usual. “What—?”

But then he sees the purple suit and he gets it. _The Joker_ , he thinks, _of course_.

“Tell me something, friend.” Sebastian’s only a few inches away from him. “You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?”

Sebastian’s eyes are mesmerizing, green and blue and orange depending on how the strobe lighting (yes, _strobe_ lighting) hits them and he’s so close Blaine can breathe him in, making that little voice smaller _smaller_ smaller, until a laugh bellows out of him (HA!) and he’s beaming up at the boy who’s always managed to get inside somehow.

“Holy mackerels, Batman, we’ve got ourselves a connoisseur,” Blaine replies and the sense of pride he gets from making Sebastian laugh in turn – _laugh_ of all things, not grin (what a _nerd_ ) – is more than he can handle right now. “How’d you get in?”

“I have my ways.” Sebastian shrugs, hands in his pockets. “I decided letting you go alone was far too perilous.” He looks around the room before his eyes find Blaine’s again. “Lot of predators out here, Mr Grayson. Best if you stick with the devil you know.”

Sebastian holds out a white-gloved hand. “Shall we dance?” he asks.

He’s dumbstruck with surprise, electric shocks trace up his spine and he can’t remember the last time someone asked him to dance. He’s glad he’s wearing the mask, because his eyes must be wide in wonder by now from the sheer shock that Sebastian, the Joker, is asking him _to dance_. There’s the start to a really lame joke in there somewhere, especially in combination with his cat ears and he suddenly wishes to God he hadn’t worn them.

He takes Sebastian’s hand, voice growing smaller, smaller, _smaller_ , until it’s but an echo of a whisper, because Sebastian’s leading him to the dance floor and no one’s staring because they don’t care—Sebastian moves slow but deliberate, he waits, anticipates, _invites_ him close as if it’s all up to him, tonight, the pace and whatever else he plans this night to become.

But to be honest, he hasn’t given that any thought.

He knows the effect Sebastian has on him, some kind of strange mixture of attraction and guilt, but up until a few weeks ago that guilt was Kurt and the attraction, well, that was all him. He’s not blind, Sebastian’s _hot_ , confident in a way that makes him envious, and Sebastian’s all too aware of it.

They halt together on the dance floor, one of Sebastian’s arms comes around to his waist, pulls him closer, silence ( _irony_ ), one of each of their gloved hands locking together. They’ve danced before, not touching, never touching, but now Sebastian’s so close, all flat yet hard muscle against him, the height difference throwing him off for a few seconds—

“Why Robin?” Sebastian asks, leads, throwing him off again. Why is he here?

He chuckles. “He seemed more befitting my size.”

Sebastian leans in, his lips right next to his ear again, only now his whole body draws closer and the distinct scent of the make-up with something specific to Sebastian fills up the haze in his head. No voice. “And the ears?” Sebastian asks.

_Kurt_. The faintest of echoes.

It doesn’t matter that he can feel his face fall, Sebastian can’t see it and he’s thankful for that. He’s having fun, plain old _normal_ fun, and he doesn’t want any lingering doubt to spoil that for him. Not tonight.

“Not befitting at all,” he answers.

“No.” Sebastian pulls back and stares down into his eyes. “They’re cute.”

Blaine swallows hard, (whisper, _whisper_ , no more).

He loses himself too easily with Sebastian, has from the start, the realization that he got tingly over other boys while he was happy with Kurt, the truth that love and attraction could go hand in hand but just as easy they could be two separate entities felt for two entirely different people. He decided once which one was more important, chose love and got attraction once he and Kurt grew more comfortable around each other’s bodies.

But what does that matter now?

He stares up at Sebastian, blinks, the world wanes and his breathing deepens and his lips part and a new voice, another voice, goes _shh, nobody knows_.

It’s almost like Sebastian hears, because he lets go of his hand and the other at his waist disappears and then they’re both on his cheeks—Sebastian leans in and those lips are on his, the ones he’s fantasized about, wondered what they tasted like, what they’d feel like against his own but now it’s real and hot and greedier than he’s used to, but he _likes_ it.

He surrenders, tumbles heart first into something new and exciting, _Sebastian_ , who’s sucking on his lips and Blaine _moans_ , hands clutching at Sebastian’s wrists, heat curling in his stomach—he wants to raise himself on his toes but decides the angle’s just perfect like this.

Sebastian’s tongue darts out first, leaves long lingering licks across his lips and he gasps, breathes in both of them, a mixture, attraction squared, and then he dives down, tongue stretches lazy against his own, slow and deep and—

It overwhelms him, washes over him in tidal waves, him and Sebastian at the Rhythm & Blues, dressed up as Robin and the Joker, making out under the strobe lighting. He’s not sure how or why, it’s not like him to go in blind. Reckless, yes, but not blind. That stunt for Jeremiah had been reckless and stupid, just like he’d told—

_Kurt_. ( _HA!_ )

He pulls back. He opens his eyes and stares at Sebastian, his heart pounds and somehow he thinks it’s grown its own voice, begs and pleads for him to continue, but guilt rages through him louder—not just guilt for Kurt but for _Sebastian_ , he realizes. He’s not ready for this.

The ache returns, an old one and a new one, because he’s not that guy. He doesn’t toy with people’s feelings. He lets go of Sebastian and turns on his heels, weaves through the crowd without really paying attention to where he’s going.

“Blaine,” a voice, and Sebastian catches him by the arm.

“I can’t do this,” he says, finding himself outside alone with Sebastian. He pulls the cat ears out of his hair. “Not now. Not yet. It’s too soon.”

_KurtKurtKurtKurtKurtKurtKurt_ his heart beats alongside it now and it _hurts_ —he still hasn’t caught his breath, he’s still hot from his fingertips to his toes and there’s a sharp sting of tears behind his eyes.

“That’s okay, killer.” Sebastian drops the act, no more pop culture references but just him, flirting. Default setting. “Not why I came.”

“You came here to—”

“To what?” Sebastian asks a question he doesn’t have the answer to. “To woo you? To sweep you off your feet?”

Blaine blinks hard, head jerks with a confused stutter. “Didn’t you?”

Sebastian chuckles, teethed grin spreading sly across his face. “Maybe,” he says, shrugs.

Blaine frowns: was this all just a game? (What an _idiot_.)

“Do I really look like a guy with a plan?” Sebastian asks, and he can’t tell if it’s the mask or if it comes from somewhere un-staged. “I see something I like and I chase after it.”

Sebastian takes a step closer, brings his hand up to Blaine’s face and traces his thumb over his jawline. “I like you, Blaine Anderson,” he says, no act, no distance. No voice, _shhh_. “But I’m not sure I’d know what to do if I ever got my hands on you.”

The thought strikes him as both daunting and a compliment, somehow, in a very strange way. Sebastian gives him an out, or pretends to, in any case, and it multiplies the guilt. But this is what he needs from Sebastian right now.

Sebastian backs away, retreats, where backstage and the real world overlaps. “But don’t get me wrong, killer,” he says, just a voice in the shadows. “I think you and I are destined to do this dance forever.”


End file.
